I Was Younger Then
by Ender Victorious
Summary: just a bunch of chapters about how various characters in RENT first met. Chapter 3: Benny and Mark.
1. We Should Talk: Roger and Mark

A/N: This is just going to be a bunch of shorts about how various characters in Rent met, probably about 9 chapters in all. I'm having them aged like this- Mimi the youngest, Angel a year older than her, Maureen 2 years older than Angel, Mark a year older than Maureen, Benny the same age as Mark, Roger 2 years older than Mark, Joanne 2 years older than Roger, Collins 2 years older than Joanne. So that would make them 19, 20, 22, 23, 23, 25, 27, and 29 during the play. I know that's a little confusing, but I thought it was important to know for the story. Oh, and the title is from Pacific Overtures. And as always, I don't own anything.

Roger stormed up the stairs into his room, trying desperately to block out the sound of his stepmother's voice in his ears. He wasn't even sure what she was yelling about. All he knew was that it had ended up where it always did. Some combination of the phrases 'your father didn't even want to have you', 'you'll never amount to anything', and 'no one would give a damn if you dropped dead right now.'

He collapsed onto his bed and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe she was right. No one _would_ care. Everyone would be better off if he ended it right then. His mother wasn't there. His father could barley remember his name, so it would be no great loss to him. His so called 'friends' were just people to get drunk or high with whenever they got the chance. There had to be something to do, Roger thought. Besides, he was too scared to kill himself. Too afraid of what would come after. Like Hamlet, he thought, remembering English class. Too angry to live, too scared to die.

But it wasn't anger, not anymore. After listening to years of his stepmother scream at him for what appeared to be no reason, he was too tired to be angry anymore. He wasn't even sad. Then it struck him, the feeling that had driven him to contemplate suicide more seriously than ever before. It was knowing that he was about to give up. After all the years, he was about to give in and agree with her. That was what had terrified him to the point of wanting to kill himself. Because he had told himself that he would never, _ever_ believe what she said to him.

He opened his eyes and stood up. I'm _not_ afraid to do it, he thought. But I won't give her the satisfaction of knowing she's gotten to me. He opened his window and got halfway out. Then, he turned around and grabbed something out of the corner. If he was going to die, his guitar was going with him. He slipped out the window and into the dark, careful not to make any noise. He walked briskly for a few streets with no idea where he was going to go or what he was going to do. Then he stopped. Or, more accurately, he was stopped.

"Ow! Watch where you're going, you little bastard!" Roger glared and the boy lying across from him on the sidewalk.

The boy scrambled for a few seconds to find his glasses and put them back on. Roger was checking to make sure his guitar was still in the case when the smaller boy spoke.

"I-I-I-I'm sorry! I didn't see you there, really!"

Roger rolled his eyes. "Look, kid, how could you have _not _seen me? You walked straight into me."

"I know, but I wasn't looking at you. I was looking at the moon. I mean, have you ever looked at the moon? I mean, have you ever seen the moon? You can look all you want for so long, but that was the first time I've ever really _seen_ it! There's so many different colors in it and the dimensions are-"

This kid was starting the annoy Roger with his babbling about 'seeing' the moon. What a freak.

"Hey, whatever. How old are you, twelve? Its late. You could get hurt out here."

The boy looked offended. "I'm fourteen…almost. And I'm not going to get hurt _here_ of all places. You're the closest thing to a mugger I've ever seen. Anyways, muggers don't usually have guitars, do they? That is yours isn't it? Or did you steal it?"

Roger snorted, stood up, and pulled the other boy up by the back of his oversized sweater. "Yeah, sure, I stole it. Think that if you want to. See you later." He crossed the street into the small park, aware that the kid was following him with an incessant stream of questions. They took a seat on a bench together. Roger took out his guitar and began to tune it. He decided that there was nothing better to do than make conversation.

"So, stalk people much, kid?"

"Don't call me that. You can't be much older."

"You said you were thirteen. I'm sixteen in three weeks. To me, you're a kid."

"Fine. What are you doing out here, anyway?"

Roger finished tuning his guitar and began to pick out a melody. "Trying to think of a way to kill myself without giving my stepmother the satisfaction of knowing that she drove me to it. You?"

By telling the truth, Roger had hoped to shock the stranger into leaving. It didn't work. He kept talking.

"Oh. I'm hiding from my big sister. Here comes a car. Go ahead."

"Huh?"

"If you stepped in front of a car, it wouldn't seem like you killed yourself. It would look like an accident."

Roger stared at him. What was _with_ this kid? First of all, his idea about stepping in front of a car wasn't all that bad. Then there was the way he had said it, and the way he had been talking. He never looked directly at Roger, but always around him, like he was trying to take in everything he saw, trying not to let anything change until he had memorized it all.

"Alright. Who are you?"

"I'm Mark, Mark Cohen. Who are you?"

"Roger Davis. Why don't you ever stop asking questions?"

"I like to know about people, everyone's so different, it's interesting, their different problems, stuff like that. For example, what's made you so desperate that you think there's no way out other than killing yourself? It's gotta be something really bad."

Rogers temper flared up within him. "How is that any of your business?" he asked angrily.

"It isn't," Mark responded quickly, excitedly. "And that's why its interesting. We should talk. Tell me what's wrong. I bet its fascinating. Oh, but here's another car. You know, if you wanted to not do it for a little while, kill yourself I mean, I'm really, _really_ interested."

Roger took Mark's glasses and snapped them in half. "I told you that you could get hurt out here after dark, especially an annoying little kid like you." Roger started to walk into the middle of the road, but something stopped him. It was Mark. He wasn't looking at his glasses, horrified. He wasn't jumping up to try and stop Roger from walking in front of the car. He was just sitting there, looking very disappointed. Like he would never get to know Roger's story.

Roger turned and walked back to the bench. "_Fine_. You want to talk? Let's talk."

Up next: Angel and Mimi. This is going to go in rough chronological order. Such as, Mark and Roger were thirteen and fifteen in this chapter, so Mimi and Angel will be a little older than that in the next chapter, about fifteen and sixteen. I'm going to cover all the main characters. Reviews, please!


	2. She's For You: Angel and Mimi

A/N: Here it is, Angel and Mimi. I know she's supposed to have run away at fifteen, but lets just say that she does it at a later point in the year : ) Enjoy.

"Once upon a time there was a little girl named Graciela. She was very sad all the time because she had no friends. The reason she had no friends was because she smelled like a pig. But then one day she met a little girl named Rosita who smelled just as bad as she did. They discovered that they were sisters, who had the same equally smelly father. They all went away to live in a nasty apartment in Brooklyn and lived happily ever after."

"Angel! That isn't a _real _story! And its mean! Me and Rosita don't smell!"

Angelo 'Angel' Dumott Schunard rolled his eyes and turned away from his little sisters, who were lying on the floor in front of the broken television staring up at him. He was bored. He should be out doing something, getting his fun in before his father came home with his loud voice and his attempts to 'make a man' out of him. Good luck to him, Angel thought. He can try all he wants, but it's never gonna happen. When you're sixteen years old and still sing soprano in the school chorus, its pretty much a losing battle.

He stood up and brushed the dust off his too-small jeans and strolled over to the fridge, looking in vain for something to eat. He looked up when he heard the door slam open, and then slam shut again. Angel glanced over his shoulder and saw his brother standing in the living room with an attractive girl wearing a short skirt and tight red tank top who couldn't have been any older than fifteen. Angels temper flared, and he marched over to his brother.

"Freddy, I think the stove is broken. Come see."

"Huh? Can't you fix it yourself?"

"No. You have to come into the kitchen with me _now_."

His brother gave him a confused look and followed him. Angel shut the door and turned to face him.

"Fredrico, what are you doing?! Look at that girl! She's like, twelve!"

"Calm down, Ang. She's fifteen."

"Yeah? You're still twenty one. That's not good, Freddy. What's mom gonna say? Didn't you think about that?"

Fredrico grinned and put his arm around his younger brothers shoulders.

"Angelo, _hermano_, don't worry. I'm not about to get arrested. She's not my girlfriend. She's for you."

Angel recoiled in shock. "What? For me? You can't just… _give_ a girl to someone like that! Unless… _madre de christo_, she isn't a hooker, is she Fred? You cant bring a hooker into the house! The girls are right out there!"

His brother was laughing as Angel's face contorted with worry. Fredrico was always doing things like this, but Angel never thought he would go this far.

"Wait, Ang, calm down. She's not a hooker, and I bet she would be offended by that. I'm going out with her sister. Her nice, nineteen year old, _legal_ sister."

"So… why is she here?"

"I already told you, for you! She told me a few days ago that she just broke up with some guy who was a real jackass. She said she was looking for someone nice. Artistic, maybe. So I said, hey, I have a brother about your age, a real nice guy. And you're artistic, right? It's a perfect match. If anyone can get you out of this little gay phase you're going through, its her. I mean, I love my girlfriend, and I know she's young, but _damn_. C'mon."

Freddy strode out of the kitchen, with Angel following behind him, a little apprehensive. His gay 'phase' his brother had called it. Right, he thought. Like any girl is going to be able to…

His thoughts trailed off when he looked more closely at the girl standing there. He couldn't describe it. She was perfect in every possible way. I want to look like her, Angel thought. He pushed the notion out of his head, knowing that if his father knew he was thinking things like that, he would get the hell beaten out of him.

"Mimi, this is my brother Angelo. Ang, this is Mimi Marquez."

Mimi smiled. "Hey, Angelo. You know, you don't have to stare. I'm not going anywhere."

Angel immediately turned his gaze to the floor. "Sorry," he mumbled. Freddy laughed.

"Don't worry about him, Meems, he's a little shy around girls sometimes. I'm gonna take the girls to a movie. Better than your sucky stories, Ang. I'll be gone for a few hours so… you two can get to know each other. Rosita! Graciela! _Vamanos_!"

Angle looked helplessly after his brother as he exited the house with his two little sisters trailing behind him. Mimi stood there with an amused look on her face. Angel noticed her staring at him and fumbled for words.

"Um… do you want something to drink? There's not really anything to do here, I mean, It's pretty small and-"

Mimi was laughing at him. "Hey, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you if you stop talking for three seconds. You have a bedroom?" She rolled her eyes at the shocked look and Angels face. "Not like that, stupid. We could talk. I'm not a whore. At least, not with nice boys like you." She laughed again.

Angel led her down the hall and into his small bedroom. She took in the unmade bed, the opera posters on the wall, the drums in the corner, and the scattered pages of homework that were lying around his unzipped backpack. She strolled over to the bed and sat, picking up a piece of paper with half an essay written on it.

"Broderick. I have her. Compare and contrast the Iliad and Beowulf, right?"

"Yeah… I didn't know you went to my school. I can't believe I didn't notice you."

"Yeah, well, I don't spend much time in the mainstream. I have this little problem with authority that tends to end me up in ISS or detention or something like that most days. But I've heard of you. You won the art show last year."

Angel smiled shyly. "Yeah, I did. It was a sculpture of my sisters."

"That's sweet." Mimi smiled back at him. "So, you ever had a girlfriend?"

Angel fidgeted uncomfortably "Um…no. Listen, I'm just gonna come out and say it. I don't really know how to tell you this, but I don't think anything between us is gonna work out. I…I'm gay. Very, very, very gay. So there's really no way-"

"Hey, that's alright." Mimi cut him off. "What, did your brother tell you that this was a favor to me or something?"

"Well…yeah, he did. But-"

"Alright." Mimi giggled a little. "I swear, I love Freddy so much. If he wasn't going out with my sister… but anyways. Look. He asked me to do this for him. He said that if your father found out you were gay, he would either kill you or worse. He figured that if anyone could turn you, it'd be me. I don't mean to brag, but I've done it before with boys like you. Sure you don't wanna give it a try?"

Angel sat down next to her. He had to think of a good way to get out of this. He decided to just be honest.

"Mimi, when I first saw you, I thought, 'damn, that girl's beautiful.'" Mimi smiled, and Angel continued. "The next thing I thought was, 'I wish I could look like her.'"

Mimi's smile turned into an all out laugh. Angel watched for a few seconds and started laughing with her. They lay on his bed for almost five minutes just cracking up when Mimi spoke.

"Ang, that's great. I take that as a compliment. And really, don't worry about it. I'm not at all offended that a flaming homosexual doesn't want to date me. But you know… if you really wanted to look like me, I could make that happen."

Angel sat up, intrigued. "Really? How?"

"Miniskirts aren't just for girls, you know. I bet you've got great legs. As for your face, it's just a matter of finding the right shades of makeup for you. I can have you looking fabulous in no time."

"Are you kidding?" Angel shook his head. "My father would kill me if he found out. I can't. I wish I could, but I cant."

Mimi giggled. "C'mon. If you want to do it, who the hell cares what your father thinks?"

Angel raised his eyebrows. "Is this that little problem with authority you were talking about?"

Mimi stuck out her tongue. "Let's go, Angel. Leave a note for your brother that we went to my place. That oughta make your father happy." She smiled as she led him out the door.

"You're gonna look so great in my fishnets."

Next in line: Mark and Benny. Reviews, please!


	3. Change is Good: Benny and Mark

Hola otra vez. About this chapter…I think I made it a little too much about Benny and almost nothing about Mark. Oh well. Enjoy.

X

Benny leaned back on his bed and stared at the ceiling of his dorm room. White. He had always liked white. The simplicity of it, and how it could be changed into any color. He liked change. Change was progress. And without progress, there was no advancement. That's what his father had always said. But he didn't need to think about his father right now, not on his first day at college. For some reason though, he couldn't help himself from hearing his fathers voice in his head.

_"All you need is an idea, Ben. That's all anyone needs to get themselves out of a place like this. There's nothing else to it."_

His father had been wrong. An idea couldn't break the cycle of poverty that had trapped their family for generations, always leaving the next in line with a worse situation. His father had plenty of ideas, but they hadn't gotten them anywhere. Benny had spent the better part of his childhood watching and listening to him spurt out theory after ridiculous theory about how to change their destitute existence in a trailer in a small town in Virginia. He had watched as his father spent all their money on different money making schemes, each one requiring less effort than the last.

That was what had tipped Benny off to the key to success. A cardinal rule in his household that had been drummed into his head by his mother: if your father does it, it's wrong. So, when he was about halfway through grade school, Benny realized what he had to do. He had to become as hardworking as his father was lazy.

So he did it. Instead of getting a job after school and supplementing their family's meager income like his siblings did, he studied. He learned what the good colleges were looking for and made himself become the perfect student. Not only perfect grades, but all the right extracurriculars, baseball and drama club and Spanish club and student council. Just the right combination to make him seem well rounded, which he was.

When it came time to apply, he applied for every school he could think of, everything from the schools that he knew he didn't have a chance in hell to get into, down to the local community college. He was accepted into every one. He chose Brown for a simple reason, it was the best school he could get a full scholarship to.

Benny was jarred from his thoughts when the door to the room opened and three people came spilling in. A large man with black hair and thick eyebrows, a woman with a rosy complexion who was talking a mile a minute, and a thin boy of about Benny's own age with sandy hair and glasses.

"Of course, Marky, you'll have to call us once you get more settled in. And don't forget, we're only a phone call away. So if you need anything, _anything-_"

"Mom! I'm fine. Please just…" he glanced at Benny, who was still lying on the bed, staring at the people now rather than the ceiling. "Just go, Mom. I'll be fine. Please?"

The man made a sound that sounded like a cross between a cough and a snort. He clapped the boy on the shoulder and strode out of the room. The woman started after him.

"Well…I guess that means we're going. You know he would have said goodbye, Marky, but…" she trailed off, not sure of how to finish. She kissed to boy on the cheek and hurried after who Benny assumed was her husband. The boy ran his hand through his messy hair and turned to Benny.

"Uh, hey…sorry about that. They don't know when to lay off. Parents, you know?" he said nervously, sounding like he was asking Benny permission to speak. Benny smiled to put him at ease.

"I totally get it. I'm Benny, Benny Coffin. I'm your roommate, I guess."

"I'm Mark Cohen. Have you been here long?"

"Two days, I came from Virginia and wanted a while to get used to the city. Where're you from?"

"Ugh. Scarsdale. The most boringest place on earth."

Benny's mouth twitched into what might have became a smile. There was something about Mark that he liked. "Hey, we don't have to worry about that anymore. We're college men, the world is ours," he said, deepening his voice and trying his best to sound mature.

Mark laughed at his new roommate. "Damn, I'm starving. You wanna go see if there's anything to eat in this city?"

Benny paused. He wasn't used to this kind of familiarity, just jumping into being friends with someone. Mark was from Scarsdale, his family was probably loaded. What would he say if he knew his roommate was self-named trailer trash, whose parents had refused to bring him to school for fear of embarrassing him?

No, he thought. Mark wasn't thinking about any of these things. Oblivious little rich boy, has everything handed to him. Probably a business major. That was fine, Benny was a business major himself. He could deal with this. So what if his roommate had no personality, so what if they were complete opposites. So he formed his opinion then and there. Mark: not bad, not great. Could be useful. So not a real friend, not for long at least. Benny could take these things in stride. After all, he had broken a cycle of poverty that spanned over a century. Finding a use for one nervous white kid couldn't be that hard.

"Sure. Let's go."

Things were changing. Change is progress. That's what his father always said.

X

Reviews please? Up next, Roger and Collins.


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